Only Human
by cellokitty101
Summary: When a tragedy causes Tory's emotional fortress to come crashing down, it's only fitting that Ben is there by her side.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_

_**Yep, you guessed it. I'm starting another Virals fic. This is strictly a hurt/comfort and angst fic and does not correlate directly to anything that happened in the books. This started out as a one-shot but it's looking like a multi-chapter now. Not sure how long the chapters are going to be, but probably around the length of this one. Hope you enjoy, please read and review!**_

The phone rings, one two three _four _times, before I reach it.

I don't recognize the number, or the voice that accompanies it.

"Is this Victoria Brennan? Christopher Howard's daughter?"

I nod, then realize that the speaker can't hear me.

"Yeah," I reply quickly. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Sergeant Michael Griesbaum from the Charleston Police Department. I'm calling about your father."

My heart slides into my throat, choking me. I had gotten a call like this before, _right before I had to uproot my life and move in with a parent that didn't know I existed._

I manage to keep my voice steady, despite the fiery tendrils of panic rushing through my veins.

"Wha-what about my father?"

"Your father was involved in a car accident about half an hour ago in downtown Charleston."

"What...is he- is he-" my voice trails off, and I can't bring myself to say it. _Dead, dead, dead, dead_.

"Fortunately, no. He is in the intensive care unit at Charleston Memorial Hospital."

I lean heavily against the kitchen countertop, my sweating fingers slipping on the cool granite.

"Thanks for letting me know."

My voice is barely a whisper, and Sergeant Michael Griesbaum does not have a chance to reply before I hang up. I lose my grip on the phone, and it falls to the tile with a thud. This is happening too soon, much too soon.

My knees give out, and I slump to the ground. My hearing cuts out, my surroundings fading to a dull gray blur.

I am not sure how long I lay there, curled on the cold floor like a fish floating through a murky gray sea. The tile feels good against my sweaty skin and I can't bring myself to move.

_You have to go to the hospital._

I'm not sure where the voice comes from, or whose voice it is.

_How the hell am I supposed to get to the hospital?_

_ I don't know, but you have to go. You can't pretend that this isn't happening._

It takes an eternity to even sit up, and by the time I get to a standing position, clutching the counter for dear life, I am ready to collapse again. This cannot be happening, it simply cannot be happening.

I find my way up the stairs and into clean, somewhat presentable clothes. I know who can take me to the hospital - but getting him to actually do it will be an entirely different story.

Ben is at his usual spot, tying up _Sewee _at the Morris Island dock. It is a gray, windy, day, unseasonably cold for March in South Carolina. The unpleasant weather fits my mood, and the sudden turn of events that my day has taken.

He is kneeling, knotting the rope connecting his boat to the dock with surgical precision. The wind tosses his hair into a silky black cloud. He doesn't look at me, even when I'm close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

Ben is angry at me, for a reason that should be inconsequential. Hopefully he'll be able to forget about it long enough to take me to the hospital, but it's always hard to tell with him.

"Ben?"

The wind blows a lock of hair in my face, and I furiously brush it away. He turns, and I can see the annoyance set deep in his dark brown eyes.

"What?"

"Can you give me a ride? Please?"

He finishes tying off his boat and stands, brushing splinters of wood off the knees of his jeans.

"I don't give people rides. Anyway, can't you just ask Jason?"

"Ben, for the last time, I'm _sorry_."

My thoughts crawl to a dark place, a place that I try to avoid whenever possible, and I suddenly see a glossy, dark wooden box, piled high with flowers, empty words, and broken promises. A lump begins to grow in my throat, and I dig my fingernails into my palms to prevent the onslaught of tears that is soon to follow.

"It's always sorry, every time, Tory. I'm _not giving you a ride_."

He brushes past me, jamming the keys to his boat in his pocket. I am left standing in the bitter cold, hugging myself. A torrent of steely water splashes onto the dock, soaking my left shoe. I don't have the energy to move, or to run back to Ben and beg him to give me a ride.

I picture my father's funeral - his colleagues from LIRI would show up, and so would his high school buddies. Whitney, his girlfriend, would sob and dab her eyes with scented tissues, making sure not to smudge her makeup. I would stand in the receiving line, shaking hands and accepting cheek-kisses and bouquets of flowers from people that I didn't really know.

Of their own volition, the tears leave my eyes and spill down my cheeks, salty rivulets of sorrow that pool at my chin before landing in the fabric of my sweater. I turn away from the water. I will walk to the hospital if I have to.

Ben is staring at me from the doorway of his townhome, fifty yards away. My shoulders are shaking, but I can't tell if it's because of the tears or the cold. My vision is blurry and fogged, but I can see him start to walk back to me. I haven't moved off the dock and into the hard-packed sand yet. I don't want him to see me cry.

He reaches me quickly, even though he wasn't walking that fast. His arm slides around my thin shoulders, and I lean closer to him because I feel like the wind will pick me up and blow me away.

"Tory? What's the matter?"

"It's my dad," I choke out, and my voice sounds raw and ugly and thick with tears. "Car accident. He's at the hospital downtown. That's why I needed a ride."

"Oh, God," he whispers, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. "Why didn't you just say so?"

I tuck my face into his shoulder. My head feels like it's in a fog, and _God it's so cold_.

Ben eventually pulls away, and laces his fingers through mine, urging me back towards the townhomes. I am surprised that I can walk without collapsing.

It takes much too long to get to the hospital. I clutch Ben's hand as tightly as I can without shattering his fingers. I don't know what I'm about to see, and I'm not entirely sure I'm prepared for it.

They won't let Ben into the ICU with me, and it pains me to detach my hand from his. My feet move robotically through the sliding glass doors. There are no private rooms in this unit of the hospital, or any real rooms, for that matter. There are 15 areas curtained off into cubicles, and two beds in each. As I walk past, I see that some of the doors are open. The sound of people breathing into ventilators fills the air.

Kit is stationed in room 14, and my knees wobble a little bit when I see him. He is draped in a nest of shiny plastic tubes. Saline drips run through his arms. There are electrical nodes taped to his neck, probably to stimulate brain activity. His face is as white as the sheet draped over him.

The nurse looks up from where she is busily adjusting the drugs being pumped into my Kit's veins. She doesn't look much older than me, but already has the "don't-even-think-about-it" frown lines etched into her face that I see on all the nurses.

"You're Victoria, right?" she asks.

I nod. I can't even muster up the strength to tell her that I'd rather be called Tory.

"I'm Faye, your father's nurse. It's nice to meet you."

She extends a latex-gloved hand. I don't take it.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask. Better cut to the chase.

Faye presses her lips into a thin line. "Victoria, I'm going to be quite honest with you, it's hard to say. Your father is in extremely critical condition. He has a few broken bones, but that isn't the problem. The accident left him with collapsed lungs and a bundle of inflamed nerves in his spinal column. It's a miracle that he even lived this long. We're working to re-inflate his lungs, but the bodily trauma has left him in a coma, and we don't know when or if he'll wake up."

I stand completely still, feet locked to the ground. Faye offers me a sad smile and leaves the room, dumping her gloves in a hazardous waste container on the way out. My heart beats wildly in my chest, smashing relentlessly against the bone prison bars of my ribcage.

I turn and walk out of the room. I should do something - squeeze Kit's hand, kiss his cheek, _cry_, anything that a normal daughter would do. I don't - I just keep walking, back through the doors and to the waiting area where Ben sits, elbows balanced on his knees. He looks bored. He should have left. I don't know how long it's been since I walked into the room with Faye and my not-really-alive husk of a father.

Ben stands up when he sees me. I must look awful, because his eyebrows crease in concern.

"How is he?" he asks. "Is he gonna be okay?"

I don't say anything in reply, and after a few seconds Ben grabs my shoulders.

"Tory, please say something."

"He's going to die." All I can manage. "That's what's going to happen. He's going to die."

Ben looks shocked. "Did they actually _tell _you that?"

I shake my head. "They said that his lungs collapsed. He's in a coma and they don't know if he's going to wake up."

"So they didn't say that he was going to die."

He pulls me into a hug, one arm wrapped around my shoulder blades, the other around my waist, so close to him that I can feel his heartbeat. I can't move my arms to hug him back; I'm as still as a statue.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers in my ear, hot breath on my cheek. "I promise."

I pull away from him, and when I reply my voice is flat and toneless and deadly serious and it _scares _me.

"No, Ben. I don't think it will."

_**PART 1 and DONE! More to come hopefully in the next couple days, I'm also working on Taken and that's my priority in terms of fanfiction right now. Thanks for reading, please comment! **_

_**~Tasi~**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_

_**Hey everybody. Okay, so I know you're going to be SEVERELY ANGRY with me once you open this and see that it's an Author's Note and not a new chapter. I absolutely hate it when I wait a while for a new chapter and then it turns out to be an author's note, so I really am sorry. Won't happen again - probably.**_

_**So here's what's up. I was suddenly struck with inspiration and wrote the first chapter of this story on a whim. Then, guess what happened - I realized after publishing it that I had no idea what I wanted to do with it. I know many of you have probably been (im)patiently waiting for a new chapter, but at the rate I'm going it's not going to happen.**_

_**That said, I am NOT discontinuing this story, nor am I deleting it. Instead, I'm asking for YOUR help - what do you think should happen next? Please leave a comment and tell me what you think I should do, because without a little assistance from you guys, this story just isn't going to continue. If I choose your idea I will give you credit for it.**_

_**Again, sorry for the disappointing author's note. Also, a big mega thank you to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed the last chapter. I love you guys.**_

_**~Tasi~**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_

_**Thank you to everyone who commented on my author's note offering ideas! Creds for this idea go to my girl vrls1o1 (if you're not following her or reading her stories, you should be. Go. Now.) Also thanks to Heslen, KitzKatz9212, and waterwolf100 for commenting! Love you guys! **_

Ben drives me home in silence. When we pull back into the row of townhomes on Morris Island, I expect him to pull up in front of my house and drop me off. Instead, he pulls into the driveway and gets out with me.

"What are you doing?"

He stares at me as though the answer should be obvious. "I'm not just going to leave you alone. Your dad's in the hospital and Whitney probably won't be back for a while. I'm staying with you."

"You really don't have to do that," I insist, because he doesn't. He should leave me here to sit on the couch, stare at the wall, and refuse to cry. He's supposed to be _mad _at me, for God's sake. I still haven't been forgiven for associating with Jason yesterday.

"Yes, I do." He grabs my hand and stares into my eyes. I feel so hollow and empty that his facial expression doesn't even register in my consciousness. "Tor, I won't let you go through this alone."

I don't have it in me to argue. I push open the door, and he follows me inside.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

I shake my head no and collapse onto the couch. I haven't eaten since lunch. It feels like it's been a lifetime since then. After a moment of standing awkwardly in the foyer, Ben sits down next to me.

I'm not sure what happens after that, but somehow we end up watching _Sixteen Candles_. I see Molly Ringwald's family scurrying around the screen and somehow that makes me laugh. Laughing is so close to crying that the tears I've been holding in all day bubble up the back of my throat, threatening to escape. I force them down, gulping and choking.

Ben pauses the movie. "Tor?"

I look back at him. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Ben takes a hint and eases an arm around me, pulling me into him.

_Do not cry. Don't you dare cry. _

I don't cry. My pain comes out in a series of short, trembling gasps. I breathe so hard that my vision blurs at the edges. Ben holds me, stroking my hair with gentle hands, until I can come back to reality.

I slump against him, suddenly exhausted. A deep ache fills my chest and refuses to fade. I force myself to breathe, over and over again, forcing my lungs to inflate, deflate. _In, out, in, out_.

"Tory?" Ben stares down at me, his eyes filled with abject worry. "You okay? You're shaking."

I can't talk, so I manage a nod, my head bobbing up and down as though being pulled by puppet strings.

"You wanna talk about it?"

The movie has been forgotten, and it's just the two of us. I cling to Ben's shoulders, digging my nails into the fabric of his shirt, because if I let go I will float into the atmosphere and never come back, just a Tory balloon hovering over the Earth for all eternity.

"I don't think I could."

"You should talk about it. Eventually. Not right now, but at some point."

"Maybe I will."

"You should get some sleep."

"I can't, Ben. I can't fall asleep. I'll just lie in bed and _think _until I hyperventilate to death."

My voice is getting hysterical. I press my hands over my face. I haven't felt this out of control since Mom died.

"I'll stay with you," Ben's voice is quiet, but not so much that I can't hear what he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You wouldn't do that."

Ben looks shocked. "Are you kidding? Of course I would."

"You were so mad at me this morning. You're just staying here right now because you pity me."

_Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry. _

"I think that you're exhausted and losing your mind," Ben replies. "I don't pity you, Victoria. I _care_ about you. There's a difference."

"You really should just go home. Your dad's gonna wonder where you are."

"I'm supposed to be staying at my mom's tonight. I'll just tell her that I'm staying at my dad's. She won't know the difference. And anyway, Tor, you just freaked out a couple minutes ago. If that...happens again, I don't want you to be by yourself."

I cross my arms defensively. "I did _not _freak out."

"Yes, you did."

It's then that the events of the day hit me, and I just about collapse. Sighing heavily, I let my head fall against Ben's shoulder.

When I wake up, Whitney is screaming.

&%&%&%&%

She doesn't look like the perfectly put-together Whitney that I know. I take in her appearance before my brain registers that she's yelling at me. Bleached blond hair tossed into a messy bun, disheveled clothes, smeared makeup.

And then I realize why she's yelling. Ben had fallen asleep shortly after me, leaving us in a heap on the couch, limbs tangled, his hand threaded through my hair, my arm tossed over his shoulder.

"What do you two think you're doing?" Whitney demands. "I come back from the hospital after spending the entire day with your comatose father, and now _this_?!"

Ben and I awkwardly untangle ourselves and sit up. I'm too tired to be embarrassed, but his cheeks are flushed bright red.

"Whitney - it's not-" I attempt to speak, but she cuts me off.

"Victoria, this is ridiculous. It's fine if you want to have a boyfriend, but you should at least associate with the _right people_."

_Do not bring up Jason, Whitney DuBois. If you bring up Jason, I swear to God I will stick your head through the nearest window._

She spins around and whirls on Ben. "And what are _you_ doing with her? You nearly got her killed a few months ago, do you remember that?"

Ben stiffens. The Gamemaster is still a sore subject between us. Sure, I forgave him, but it isn't something we enjoy talking about. And for Whitney to bring it up? Completely out of line.

Then, he stands up and walks out the front door without saying goodbye.

"What was that for?" I choke out, standing up. "Whitney, he didn't want to leave me alone because he was _worried _about me. What's wrong with that?"

Whitney drops her purse onto the kitchen table, the disgustingly expensive leather bag hitting the wood with a thud. She seems at a loss for words.

"Tory - this is - this is just _unacceptable_. You need to associate with the right kinds of guys. You snuck off to see Jason Taylor, and now you're fooling around with this island boy?"

"Ben is my friend," I snap angrily. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Whitney splutters, her mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. I sprint up the stairs, slam the door, and scream until my vocal chords shatter.

&%&%&%&%

The police car pulls into the development, idling at the street corner before rolling into our driveway. It's not a Folly Island cruiser, either. This one is straight out of Charleston HQ.

The door opens, and a large man climbs out, a stack of beige manila folders clutched in his meaty hands. My heart crawls into my throat and begins to slide upwards.

I'm not sure if I should open the door or not. I could just pretend that no one was home.

_Denial_, the doctors would say. _You're pretending that it's not happening, Victoria._

My feet move across the floor. They're not connected to me. My brain is still rooted to the

spot at the window, but my body doesn't care. My feet move. My hand twists the doorknob, pushes back the screen door. The officer walks into my house.

"Victoria Brennan?" he offers a hand to shake. My own rebellious, disconnected hand takes it. "I'm Sergeant Donovan O'Neill. Charleston Police Department."

_As if I didn't know who you were_.

For added effect, he fishes a badge out of his shirt pocket, flashing a faded ID card.

_Are you seriously enjoying this, Sergeant Donovan O'Neill? _

"I am very sorry that this happened, Victoria."

"Tory," I blurt out. "It's Tory. And thanks."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to you about your father's accident," O'Neill continues. "Your father's partner lives here too, as well? Whitney DuBois?"

I nod. "She's not here right now. She's at the hospital."

I lead him to the kitchen table. He sits down with a huff and drops the files onto the table.

"We've been doing some intensive research into your father's accident. At first we thought it was just that - an _accident _- but we think there may have been foul play involved."

Spiders crawl in my stomach. I dig my fingernails into my palms. When I unclench my fists, there are white crescents imprinted in my skin.

"What _kind _of foul play?" my voice stays steady. "Was someone...trying to kill him? Did they do it on purpose?"

O'Neill sighs. I can see him fidget with some of the papers. Whatever is happening, he doesn't want to tell me. I'm not sure that I want to know.

My mouth opens. "You can tell me. I won't get upset."

_I will get upset. Just not right now._

"Your father's accident may have been involved with the Gamemaster."

Inside my head, the roof and walls and ceiling and sky break into a million pieces, shards of glass falling around me and piercing my skin like knives. On the outside, I remain completely calm, completely still. Deafening screams ring in my ears, but O'Neill can't hear them. He can only see me. I don't react. I don't flinch. My eyes don't fill with tears, I don't grip the table in horror. I am frozen, stock still, despite the chaos swirling in my psyche.

"I thought the Gamemaster was locked up."

The screams grow louder, threatening to overwhelm me.

"He is locked up, on a life sentence. But contrary to what we originally thought, his 'Game'

wasn't a one-man show."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

_I know exactly what that means. He has allies, who are currently out to kill my family._

"Simon Rome had associates. Most didn't even live in South Carolina. The one involved

in your father's accident was from Estonia."

Behind my eyes, I see a map. A smoking bomb, centered over Charleston. Fiery lines grow out of the bomb, twisting and extending across the country, across the world. _Not safe. Never safe never safe never safe never never never._

"So what are you saying?"

"Tory, the Gamemaster is looking for revenge. And you know better than anyone that when he wants something, he _always _gets it."

_**HAHAHAHAHA PLOT TWIST! I know it's been forever and a year since I updated and I'm REALLY SORRY. Thanks again for all the ideas. I'll definitely use them. Just FYI, I am NOT KILLING KIT. He might be in a coma for a while, but he's not going to die. I torture my characters, but not too much. Tory's been through enough as is. Anywayyys I hope you enjoyed! Please comment!**_

_**~Tasi~**_


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